An evening at half capacity

My wife turned to me this evening and told me, “Your son wrote a story in school today and got sent to the office for it.”

Lemur. Of course it was Lemur. Good grief. My mind raced. What could have possibly sloshed out of that crazy, over active brain and onto the paper that would so freak out his teacher so much that he would get sent to the office for it? I almost didn't want to know.

But I could hardly be upset about it. It's almost seems like a genetic trait with this family. His dad wrote stories in Jr. High during free writing time with such lurid, graphic moments of Gothic horror that the teacher held me back after class one day to chat about my personal life, trying to serupticiously see if I needed further counseling. Kitten, when the rest of her first grade class was writing cute little stories of puppies and parties and playing outside, wrote a story called the 3 bird friends ----a story where two birds try heroicly to save their other bird friend from the hunter, but in vain as all three end up dying tragicly in the end. I remember thinking, Heaven help us, we've given birth to a Russian novelist.

But when the wife saw the panic in my eye she gave me a smirk, seeing the intended response of her misdirection, and reassured me that he had been sent to the office for doing good this time. His teacher had so enjoyed his story that she allowed Lemur a special trip to the Principle to share his good work.

That's why I love this school. We have to petition every year to get our kids into the school because we live outside of the district. They have special program considered 'experimental' in our little burg. It's not so vastly different that if you walked in during the middle of the school day that it would seem odd or unconventional, but this was a small example of the nice touches that the school uses to go above and beyond what I experienced growing up. Lemur has spent his fair share of time with the Principle being "guided to better behavior". I was thrilled to hear that they took the time to have this special little celebration moment too, so that he might have a relationship with his Principle built on respect, not just fear of an enforcer. I can't help but believe that this will help him to take her guidance more to heart.

Here at the home tonight we're at a bit of a reduced capacity. Kitten is off on an overnight Speech Tournament out of town with her high school team, and Robo is spending the night with a friend from his class, so it's just mom and dad and the two littlest boys. As much as I miss our kids when they're not here, I do enjoy evenings like this when we can get a little more one on one with our two youngest. Gives you time to connect. And connect we did.

Lemur wasn't able to bring his story home because it's going to be something presented as special work on parent/teacher night. But he described it. It was a little autobiographical micro-moment in out home life. He wrote how once he sat petting the cat with his bare feet, then Bear came in and scared off the cat and jumped on Lemur's head. Hard to say which exact time he was recounting, that scenario happens so often these days.

Then we both got to tuck Lemur in bed, and HE read US a story for bed time. It's so wonderful to hear him reading. He takes such pride in it. And I'm right there with him---not being simply proud of a grade achieved, or a bench mark skill attained so it can be checked off on the developmental charts, but just reveling in the joy he finds in this new world he's unlocked. That he can pick up any of the zillion books in this house and enter into it, at least partially, all by himself.

This quiet moment of mom and dad sitting on the edge of the bed listening to the young boy read by the light of the Darth Vader head bedside lamp is not quite as Rockwell as it might first appear, though. There was the one interrupted moment of giggles profound with seven-year-old praise at the substantial belch that escaped from his Mom. Then Dad trying to keep little Mr. multi-task focused on the book so we could get to bed before midnight. But it was nice.

After that, I tucked my wife in too. She had woken up at 4:30 this morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so she spent the rest of the day salivating over the thought of being able to go to bed again this evening. Her hips had been bothering her from picking up and carrying Bear here and there through the day (sometimes it's the only way to get him going in the direction you need to be going at any given moment), so I was trying to massage her a bit as she faded off to sleep.

This is not quite as ideal as it might seem, either, though. I am a very willing masseuse, but alas, not a very skilled one. I just don't have the sixth sense that makes a good masseuse---the one of going right to the tension with just the right touch. So I'm really just going through the motions depending, like a show dog, on verbal commands. "Up, Up, Over, harder, softer, softer---There! There! Good, yes, good. Goooooood."

During this, in the almost light of our digital alarm clock, a little timid figure carrying a Christmas teddy bear comes in through our door. He couldn't sleep without his brother in his room with him. We're making progress on that, but we still have a way to go. Of course, so does big brother's new room. We're all working in the same direction.

So he crawls into bed with mom while I finish the massage. Then I slip out, leaving the two lumps in the covers, for a little blogging before bed while everyone drifts deeper into sleep, some smooth jazz flowing out of the iPod connected to the stereo system.

When I finally carried him back to his own bed asleep, I had a "that moment" I'd had with the two other kids before him. That moment when you pick up one of your little babies, and his little butt sits in the crook of your arm where it has always been, but this time as you walk the trek back to his room you realize you can feel his feet hitting your knees.

Breathe deep. These are the moments we'll want to remember.